Steady beeping was the foundation of Justin’s world.
He breathed in rhythm with the beeps. His dreams played out in time with their cadence. His thoughts took shape alongside the beeps, formed into checklists and to-dos that he scratched off as the machines kept time. Hold Wes’s hand. Smooth his hair from his forehead. Kiss his temple.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
No one had any answers for him.
All the doctors could tell him was what they didn’t know: they didn’t know if Wes had long-term brain damage. They didn’t know if he would remember what happened, or where he was, or even who he was, when he woke up. They didn’t know whether he’d have full use of his arms or his legs. “We don’t really know what happened,” Dr. Williams said. “We don’t know how long he was lying in that road. We don’t know what kind of trauma or brain swelling might have occurred before we got to him.”
Someone had wrapped a belt around his neck and tried to strangle him. There was a two-inch-wide black-and-blue band around his throat, riding up on both sides and under his jawbone, like someone had stood behind him and yanked. The doctors said Wes’s size and strength had protected him. His throat was more than half swollen shut when he’d been brought in, but he’d never stopped breathing.
Wes was lucky, they said. No major organ damage. Bruised ribs. Bruised kidneys. He was black and blue and putrid green from the roots of his hair to his toes, more bruises than healthy skin. But he was alive.
No one could tell Justin when he would open his eyes, though.
Justin’s dad slept on the couch behind him, in Wes’s private ICU room. He’d made the five-hour drive from Dallas in just over three hours in his Porsche, had flown into the hospital and wrapped Justin in his arms like he was four years old and he’d fallen off his bike. Justin had cried in his dad’s arms, his face buried in his chest, and his dad had held on to him until every tear was out and until he could stand on his own wobbly feet again.
They talked over Wes’s bed, after the doctors and nurses finally checked Wes’s medical release information at the university and saw Justin was listed as his local emergency contact. Wes had made an offhand comment about putting Justin on his paperwork, swapping Justin in instead of Coach Young. “I’d rather have you there if I break my leg than him,” he’d said. They’d laughed about it, imagining Coach Young trying to comfort Wes with his leg in a cast and a sling.
There wasn’t any laughter now.
“I saw the game,” his dad had said.
“He wasn’t trying to hurt anyone.” There was too much to say, too many factors that had gone into Wes’s calculus. Too many variables in his decisions and in the vectors of his life. Every path had spiraled like a football, a pass thrown with no receiver in range. How was he to know how everything would play out? How wrong everything would go? Life wasn’t lived with the benefit of hindsight.
“His team was pissed. You could feel their rage through the TV.” His dad sighed. “Someday, you’ll have to tell me how this all happened.” He held Justin’s hand over Wes’s blanketed thighs. Ran his other down Wes’s arm, until he gripped Wes’s wrist above the IV. “You and Wes Van de Hoek?”
“It was Paris,” he’d whispered. “We met in Paris.”
“He was the guy?” Justin’s dad had scowled. “I wanted to kill that guy. You never told me it was him.”
“Because he’s your favorite player, Dad, on your favorite team. I didn’t want to ruin the game for you.”
“Fuck the game. You’re more important than football, Justin.”
He’d smiled, sadly. “What about how all you wanted was for me to marry a Texas fan?”
“All I want is for you to be happy. Happy, safe, and healthy. That’s all a parent should ever want.”
Justin was quiet as he squeezed his dad’s hand. He managed a tiny smile, after a long moment. “I mean, I did do good, though, huh? Not just a Texas fan, but your favorite Texas player.”
“He’s only my favorite player if he treats you right.”
“He’s perfect, Dad. He’s perfect for me.” His voice went thin, and he buried his face against Wes’s thigh. “I love him so much. We said we’d be together forever, Dad, and now—”